Page 139 of Twisted Ties

“No, it’s not,” she says, raising my phone over her head so I can’t reach it. “Just try not to look like you’re posing for your mugshot. Try and look sexy.”

“How?” I say with exasperation.

“Rhi, you’re pretty stunning. It isn’t hard.”

“Me? Sexy?”

“Says the girl who was having a threesome with two veryhot men last week.” Winnie gestures towards me. “Now turn to the side, thrust your chest forward and your butt out and then peer back at me all seductively over your shoulder.”

“I am not doing that, Winnie.”

“Rhianna Blackwaters, yes you are.”

“Winnifred Wence—”

“Do it!” Winnie barks in her most authoritative voice.

I huff but turn to the side and look over my shoulder at her.

“That’s it, now stick your butt out.”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Okay, then look down at the floor … then up at me.” She snaps away, then examines the screen. She presses a few buttons.

“What are you doing?”

“Adding some filters to make the lighting look more seductive. And … there!”

She flips the phone my way and I peek at the photo. “Oh,” I say, because the picture isn’t half bad. She’s caught me just as I was looking up, and the effect has me peering through my eyelashes, and with my hair all messed up, it does look … kind of … sexy.

“I can’t send him that!” I say.

“Yes, you can,” Winnie says and before I can do anything about it, she flips the phone back around towards her, typing away and hitting send.

“Oh shit. What did you write?”

“I wrote: I’ll be right along, Professor.”

“He’s going to kill me.”

“He’s going to pound you into the nearest mattress. Him and the man in black together.”

“I don’t even know if I want him to touch me, let alone …” Igulp, the image Winnie’s just created in my head scorching hot. “He’s a giant asshole.”

“One you just tortured,” Winnie says, handing me back my phone and returning to the mirror. “Now take your time getting dressed and make him suffer. He deserves it for being such an assy asshole.”

I nod half-heartedly and tug the dress over my head.

Forty-five minutes later, with no more messages from Stone received, I’m knocking on his cabin door.

It swings back, and he’s there glaring at me like I just indulged in torturing a litter of kittens.

“What the fuck?” he growls, hauling me inside. Azlan lurks in a corner, his arms crossed, his face thunder.

“It was Winnie,” I squeak.

“Funny, it didn’t look like Winnie in that photo.”